


Say My Name

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Dark Valvert, Don't Judge Me, Forgive me Valjean, I have no idea where this came from, Is it canon era? Who knows?, M/M, PWP, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Prison Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Valvert smut, Why did I write Valvert smut?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 00:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8644648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Valjean has a plan to escape prison, he just has to seduce a certain guard to get what he needs. Rape/Non-Con - I have marked this warning as a caution. This fic contains a sexual encounter between two consenting adults who both know exactly what they are doing. However lines are definitely blurred/crossed so if you have a zero tolerance for this sort of subject please do not read.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Author has never written smut, please be gentle to this "virgin"...
> 
>  Okay... I'm going to go hide now if you still decide to read this....

_ ‘We gotta plan to get out of here, we just need somebody to distract the guard and lift the key from his persons.’  _

 

_ ‘Why me?’  _

 

_ ‘Cause I've seen the looks that one gives you.’ Jacques laughed harshly. ‘You shouldn't have much trouble gettin’ off ‘em.’  _

 

Valjean hadn't even needed to look to know which guard Jacques meant, he could feel those cold eyes on him even then. Those quiet eyes that seemed to strip him bare of his clothes  _ and _ skin. 

 

_ Javert.  _ There was something that set the young guard apart from the other guards and prisoners alike, belonging to neither group, he was ostracized by both. And his pretty boy good looks certainly didn't help him any. 

 

And he  _ was _ pretty, something Valjean had never wanted to notice, especially in another man, in a guard. He had never expected such a distraction - especially in a place such as this. 

 

_ ‘Not that'd be a hardship,’ Jacques whispered from behind. ‘Almost like fuckin’ a woman, bet he'd even scream like one.’  _

 

Valjean saw white at the prisoner's words. If anyone was going to touch young Javert it wasn't going to be a piece of garbage like old Jacques. He easily slammed the other prisoner against the wall. 

 

_ ‘I'll do it. But I want in.’  _

 

_ ‘Thought you might,’ Jacques laughed in his face. ‘Thought you might.’  _

 

It was not a secret what happened in the stock rooms between guard and prisoner - for most prisoners their bodies were the only thing they had left to bargain with. Prisoners rutted out in the open like wild beasts - that was at least an honest trade amongst equals. Even if Valjean had never succumbed to such base instincts himself. His body was the last thing left to him - he feared if he surrendered that too he would have nothing left. And the thought of selling that last part of himself, to Javert most of all, made him sick. 

 

But he would do  _ anything  _ to get out of here. Even  _ that.  _

 

Valjean stayed behind so that he would be the last prisoner in line - usually he made sure to be first out and back, he was nothing but the model prisoner, he stayed out of the way of prisoner and guard alike, made no trouble, bided his time. 

 

As the junior most guard Javert was the one left with clean up duty. A duty that traditionally fell to whichever  _ lucky  _ prisoner the junior guard picked for it - a fact that the other guards must not have told the younger guard. It never entered Valjean’s mind that perhaps Javert was too honest for such a thing - there was no such thing as an honest guard.

 

Valjean watched as the younger guard attempted to lift one of the many tools discarded on the ground, one of the heaviest. Valjean caught himself smiling, this was a man who felt he had something to prove even when he thought himself alone, and he was obviously unafraid of work. Despite himself, Valjean was impressed. And not just in the way the young guard’s too snug jacket stretched across broad shoulders. Too bad he was lifting all wrong. 

 

Javert lost his grip on the tool and the heavy bar slipped, but before it could hit the ground Valjean caught it. He hadn't meant to plan it that way but by the flash of fear that crossed across the young guard’s eyes - fear and something else if Valjean was not mistaken - he could not have planned it better. 

 

Valjean felt something awaken in him at that look - something he did not like. 

 

“You,” Javert’s pretty mouth twisted in disgust. “What are you doing out of line,  _ 24601 _ ?” He brought his cudgel out and pushed Valjean back with its blunt tip. 

 

Valjean thought of the knowing smirks on the other guards’ faces as they left guard and prisoner alone and he hated himself just a little bit more. Hate that was reflected back to him by the stark fear in Javert’s eyes. 

 

Valjean saw the same hate for him in Javert’s. 

 

Valjean wrapped his hand around the cudgel. Nothing could strip a man of his dignity quicker than this tool. The only difference between guard and prisoner was who held this weapon in his hand. 

 

It was warmer than he had expected having been near Javert’s body - and the symbolism did not go unnoticed. Valjean gave it a short tug - just enough for Javert to feel the strength behind his hand. He could easily take the weapon from him - and he let him know it.

 

The young guard went red - in embarrassment or anger it was difficult to tell, his breath became labored in fear or excitement - or perhaps both. The hand on the other end of the rod remained steady though - Valjean had to give him that. 

 

“I could help you,” Valjean almost didn't recognize the sound of his own voice. “We could help each other.” 

 

“What could  _ you  _ possibly do to help  _ me _ , 24601?” Javert’s eyes narrowed in suspension. 

 

“I've seen the way you watch me.” Valjean caressed the rod between him and Javert. 

 

“You are  _ my _ prisoner. It is  _ my _ duty to watch you.” 

 

The ‘ _ my prisoner’  _ did not go unnoticed by Valjean - it made his spine shiver and his gut knot but something stirred awake even lower. 

 

Javert's eyes stared into Valjean’s in more challenge than desire - though somehow both at once. In this place where a of meeting eyes was taken as a challenge it was a dangerous game he played with this guard. It made his blood pulse - it made him feel alive. 

 

It was a challenge that Valjean would not back down from. 

 

“You feel it too, don't you?” Valjean gave the cudgel a tug bringing the young guard even closer. “We are the same, you and I.” 

 

Something seemed to snap in the young guard at the prisoner's words. Javert grabbed the prisoner by his frayed smock, tearing it further in the process, and snarled in his face. “We are  _ nothing  _ alike,  _ 24601 _ .” 

 

Valjean took a savage satisfaction in cracking the young guard’s discipline - they were all no better than beasts.  _ None of them were.  _ Prisoner and guard the same. 

 

“Lie to me all you wish,” Valjean never raised his voice, “but you cannot lie to yourself.” 

 

Javert quickly and smoothly turned the tables - unprepared it caught Valjean by surprise. The young guard pushed the prisoner's back to the wall and held the cudgel against his bared throat.

 

Valjean felt like someone who had prodded a slumbering tiger one time too many. The transformation that had overcome the usually docile guard was almost fascinating to Valjean. This was the true Javert before him, without his guard’s mask. 

 

“None of the others have been worthy,” Valjean tried playing to Javert’s vanity.

 

“You would mock the law,” Javert growled, pressed the cudgel harder against Valjean’s throat. 

 

Valjean choked - laughed. “There is no  _ law  _ here but the law of  _ might.” _

 

“You need to be taught to show respect for the law,  _ 24601 _ ,” Javert hissed. 

 

“From whom?  _ You?”  _ Valjean coughed - laughed - against the pressure at his throat. “You would  _ try _ .” He spat in the guard’s face. 

 

“I shall show you to spit in the face of the law,” Javert kept the cudgel at Valjean’s neck. “On your knees,  _ 24601.”  _

 

There was a part of him that wanted to roll over and bare his stomach in surrender to this fierce predator. But Valjean was no man’s prey.  _ No man. Not even this one. _

 

But he had to remember the whole reason for this charade. 

 

Without looking down from the guard’s gaze, he placed his hands behind his back and got down to his knees before the young guard. “Should’a know it’d come to this,” the prisoner grinned up at the guard. “You kind always take what they want.” 

 

“You are the  _ thief _ here, 24601. All you possess is the borrowed property of better men than you, including your  _ life _ .” 

 

“Life  _ and  _ body, eh? Is that how it's gonna be?” Valjean laughed harshly. “Is that how you justify this  _ justice _ .” He spat out the word like a curse - it  _ was _ a curse in this place. 

 

“You  _ know  _ nothing of justice, 24601,” the guard’s words spat in the prisoner's face. 

 

Valjean knew of justice - it was a lash upon a rack - a breaking of body and spirit.  _ Justice  _ was eternal damnation.

 

“Is this what you want?” Valjean ripped off the remains of his smock and threw it to the side. “Take your  _ justice.”  _ He held his arms out, his head up. 

 

Javert faltered for a moment in confusion. “What is the meaning of this?” 

 

“I know your secret,  _ Javert,”  _ Valjean dared say the guard’s name, something that was forbidden - no one had a name for long in this place. “I know  _ what  _ you want. No one is here to stop you. Take what is yours.”

 

“You talk too much,” the guard growled.

 

“Perhaps you can find a better use for my mouth then,” Valjean grinned, he  _ almost  _ wished Javert would just hit him and be done with this play. 

 

“You would  _ dare  _ proposition me?” Javert seemed offended - the young guard was either a very good actor, or a fool - Valjean could not decide which. “You think to make a deal with  _ me?”  _

 

But the guard could not hide the naked interest behind the gaze that lingered just a bit too long on his unclothed chest.

 

Valjean recognized the hunger in Javert’s eyes. He knew something of hunger - it seemed he had spent the majority of his life hungry for something or other - though he had never felt any hunger for another.  _ This  _ he did not understand, but he could, and would, use it to his advantage. 

 

Tempt a starving man with a piece of bread, he will not refuse.  _ No matter who that man may be.  _

 

“I would rather call it a mutually beneficial agreement,” as Valjean spoke he slowly rubbed the front of his crotch, he felt little there himself - though  _ something  _ stirred within. But - the thought of the guard’s hands on him was - distasteful. 

 

But instead of stroking the young guard’s hunger - his eyes flinched away and his pretty mouth twisted in disgust. “If you think I would desire to touch fifth like you - you are very much mistaken.” 

 

There was truth in the young guard’s statement - his disgust was plain to be seen. But Javert  _ had  _ wanted him - he was not mistaken about  _ that.  _ Valjean was sure of it. 

 

He was struck by a light of inspiration. 

 

“Yet I am the one on my knees with a weapon at their throat.” Valjean held his arms out in surrender, or supplication, and leaned into the unmoving rod - the pressure on his throat was not unpleasant. “I am your prisoner.” 

 

_ You are my guard, he left unsaid.  _

 

Valjean witnessed Javert’s inner struggle between man and guard, desire and duty, wrong and right - but in the end the guard gave very little away, his face may have been another mask it was so stiff.

 

And then he smiled - a cruel slash that caused Valjean a shiver a fear. 

 

“You would not dare, 24601,”Javert said calmly. The guard still held the cudgel at the prisoner's throat, and used his free hand to take a fistful of filthy hair and twisting brought the prisoner's head up. “You know the penalty for lying.” 

 

It would be the choice between giving Javert what had been promised - or spend the next forty-eight hours on the rack - Valjean was not sure which he preferred.

 

Javert had taken his bait -  _ why did it make him feel so ill? _

 

“As I thought, on your feel,  _ 24601,”  _ Javert attempted to pull the prisoner to his feet. “Do not bother stretching the stiffness out, a night on the rack should the job.”

 

He had almost thought it was the rack that would be the lesser of the two. But it was the savage look of satisfaction on Javert’s face that decided him - Javert  _ wanted  _ him to choose the rack, so he could  _ not, would not. _

 

Valjean did not look down from Javert’s eyes as he undid the guard’s belt and pants - the keys at his belt gave out a guilty jangle, and he pulled the uniform and undergarments down past the guard’s thighs. 

 

The young guard’s naked thighs were so pale to be almost white - they were free of any blemish. Here was skin that had never been bared to the elements, never been hit, never been lashed. Valjean felt the desire to mark that skin in some way. He imagined biting down on the soft flesh where thigh met thigh and branding it with his teeth. And he felt a flutter low in his stomach that should have been disgust - but wasn't. 

 

Valjean forced himself to look at that  _ other  _ part he had bared - perhaps a little fearfully. But what he found was little different than any other man’s - it seemed there was no difference between guard and prisoner in  _ this  _ at least. 

 

The prisoner had never felt any desire for any man's cock - had never desired any woman either for that matter - and he prayed to a god he no longer believed in that he could do this thing he had never dared without gagging, or worse being sick on the guard’s halfhard member. 

 

Valjean looked up at Javert and licked his lip. His thoughts were of one thing, and one thing only -  _ freedom.  _

 

Javert was perfectly still watching the prisoner, waiting.  _ Did the young man truly want this? Guard he may be, but he was also just a young man, still more innocent than most here. Valjean may be a thief, but this he could not take from an unwilling man, even one such as this.  _ Javert gave a slight nod of his head, as though reading Valjean’s hesitation. 

 

And what of  _ him? _ It was not too late to change  _ his _ mind. There would be punishment of course - perhaps that would be cleaner than  _ this.  _ But Valjean had never been one to back away from a challenge - and this had become about something more than just the keys dangling from the guard’s undone belt. 

 

Valjean cautiously reached towards Javert. 

 

Back in another life, Valjean’s father had tamed wild horses. But there was one mare that would not allow anyone to approach her but him, he approached Javert in much the same way. 

 

He cautiously took the half hard appendage at hand. Valjean had expected it to feel the same as any other limb, but the delicate skin that covered it was much too thin, and the organ beneath the thin skin seemed to wiggle on its own in Valjean’s hand. 

 

He was reminded of a fat earthworm as he placed Javert’s cock between his lips. And probably didn't taste much better to his way of thinking. 

 

Though Valjean had led a chaste life, he was no innocent to sexual acts. No one could remain so long in this place. His fellow prisoners took what pleasures they could, much like the beasts he had witnessed as a young boy. 

 

But this was a pervasion of power. A theft worse than rape.

 

Valjean knew little of what to do but he thought of Jacques’ advice when he had first arrived. 

 

_ ‘The novice mistake is tryin’ to shove the whole root down yer throat. The trick is to think of the juiciest fruit yer’ve ever had and suck as tho yer savor’in ever’y taste an’ ne’r wan’ it end.’ _

 

Valjean attempted to think of the succulent peaches that had grown on his family's estate when he had been a child, his sister and he had often stolen the tempting fruits when their father's back was turned. He licked up to the base of Javert’s own fruit and sucked on its tip. 

 

He was sure he had no idea what he was doing, but by the way Javert bucked into his mouth, almost gagging him in the process, the guard had no complaints. Without thought Valjean took hold of the first thing within reach to keep his balance, Javert’s buttocks; which pushed his cock even further into his mouth.

 

The young guard gasped and would have fallen backwards if not for the hands keeping him trapped between the prisoner and the wall. The guard jerked back, as though perhaps to get away, his fully hard cock slipping part way out of the prisoner's mouth. 

 

The prisoner shoved against the young guard's buttcheeks, causing the young man to once again buckle into his now sensitive mouth. The tip of the young man's cock began to leak thick drops on his tongue that somehow did remind him of the taste of his father's peaches… and not. The guard gave out a moan that may have been one of pleasure or pain, or both. With one hand the guard pulled at the prisoner's long hair, the other he pushed the cudgel deeper into his naked throat.

 

Valjean had never forgotten the cudgel at his neck, it had been a constant pressure. However he no longer feared it - or the young man whom he had at his mercy. And he realized that in this moment this man, no longer a guard, was completely at his mercy - weapon or no weapon.

 

The prisoner’s hands tightened around the guard's buttcheecks, briefly lifting the guard off of his feet. And his groping fingers found that spot hidden between. He carefully separated the flesh with his knuckles but there was nothing gentle about his exploration of the crevice underneath his fingers.

 

Javert twisted Valjean’s hair and again pulled himself halfway out of his mouth. But there was no struggle as Valjean once again forced him forward, his finger breaching into Javert’s hole at the same time his cock entered his mouth.

 

This pattern was repeated, quicker with each thrust. 

 

Sometime during the encounter the guard must have undone the top part of his uniform around his throat as though he had had difficulty breathing but other than that he still remained fully clothed from the waist up, which only seemed to make him appear even more indecent than if he had been fully nude. 

 

Valjean watched Javert as he fall apart before his eyes. The young guard struggled to hold his control but with each assault it was becoming more difficult. Valjean quickened the pace even more, using his superior strength to thrust the guard against the wall behind him. Javert tilted his head back and gave a primal howl. The guard was close but it wasn't enough to just break him. Valjean wanted to shatter him. 

 

Valjean stood back and took the cudgel from Javert’s limp fingers and forced the guard to turn around so that he now faced the wall. The guard's pale ass was still red from the imprints of his hands. The sight did  _ something  _ to Valjean,  _ something  _ he did not like. 

 

Javert looked back at him from over his shoulder and gave him a look that could only be described as disdain. “Go on then, be done with it,” he lifted his head defiantly, “ _ 24601.”  _

 

Valjean knew what the guard expected of him. He could even picture it - it would be easy to push down his rags and relieve the tightening pressure between the mounds of bruised flesh before him. More than that Valjean knew that it was what the guard  _ wanted  _ from him.

 

But this wasn't about what Javert wanted.

 

Valjean placed the cudgel between the guard's ass and pressed himself against his back. “My name is Jean Valjean,” he said, his face was close enough to kiss the guard but he wasn't even tempted by his grossly plump lips.  _ Not at all.  _ “Jean. Valjean. Say. My. Name.” He gave the cudgel a twist with each word.

 

“You are but a number, 24601,” Javert sneered. “That name has no meaning here.”

 

Valjean's chest burned, the brand that would mark him as nothing but a number until the day he died, and after. His grave would be a nameless one, no one would remember his name. Not even him.

 

And  _ that  _ was  _ justice. _

 

The prisoner pushed the tip of the cudgel against the guard's hole, a threat, or a promise. He reached around and took the guard's enlarged cock in hand and pressed the tip causing him to hiss in pain.

 

“You can finish this,” Valjean said. He begun to knead Javert’s cock gently with his rough fingers. “You only have to say my name.”

 

“Never.” Javert’s moan of pleasure turned into one of pain as Valjean pushed the cudgel further into his tight opening. He titled his head back baring his throat to Valjean. 

 

“Say my name,” Valjean bit down on the exposed skin, as though holding his prey in place. 

 

“Never, 24601,” Javert brought his arm up behind him and around Valjean's neck in a pantomime of an embrace, the position pressed the cudgel even further into his ass, and Valjean's own growing erection. 

 

Valjean continued to stroke and press non too gently on the cock in his hand. “Say my name,” he said, his mouth a breath on Javert’s lips. But they never kissed. “Say my name.” Valjean bucked against Javert. “My name is Jean Valjean.” He rubbed his own erection against Javert’s backside, like an itch it only seemed to make worse, he sought release more than pleasure. “Say it.” He rutted against him faster and harder. “Say my name.” Each time Valjean’s erection hit the cudgel between him and Javert the pain that almost made him blackout in sensory overload. “Jean. Valjean. My. Name. Is. Jean. Valjean.” He repeated the words with each stroke, as though to remind himself as well as Javert. 

 

“24601,” Javert repeatedly whispered like a litany. With each stroke Valjean brought him closer to edge before bringing him back to begin the cycle again.

 

Valjean forced the cudgel even deeper into Javert's crevice and began to pump his cock not too gently. “You know how to put an end to this,” Valjean said in Javert's ear. His own cock throbbed painfully for release, he almost hated to think how the guard's must feel. He pulled Javert closer so that there was no space between them and rubbed his erection against him, a reminder that they were both in the same state.

 

The young guard almost whimpered for release but he would not beg, Valjean could have almost admired it from him in any other time. But Valjean needed this to end as much as he did. Having the young man completely at his mercy like this had brought Valjean closer to orgasm than he had ever experienced before. But those implications were something to worry about another time.

 

Valjean pumped Javert's cock without mercy. The time had come to push the guard over the edge. It was time to end this, one way or another.

 

The guard lasted much longer than Valjean would have thought but finally his body began to spasm nearing the end. “My name. Say my name.” Valjean was oddly calm right before the finish. “Jean Valjean. Remember my name.” 

 

Javert became rigid in his arms and time seemed to hold still, until finally he threw his head back and said the words that Valjean had been waiting for, and ejected himself over Valjean's hand.

 

“ _ Valjean. Jean Valjean.”  _

 

His words were a plea to a higher figure. The same way another might say  _ ‘Jesus'.  _

 

Valjean had not expected the force of the orgasm as it ripped its way through his body and expelled out. His sight turned white and his limbs fell limp. And after he felt weaker than a night on the rack left him. 

 

When he finally came to he saw that he had fallen against Javert, the wall the only thing keeping them both on their feet. Javert hid his face behind an arm. His shoulders shook in what could only be sobs. There were dark bruises on his thighs, scratches on his hips. His backside was the color of raw meat and there were spots of blood at the juncture of cheeks.

 

_ Dear God. What had he done? _

 

Valjean dropped the cudgel he still held and heaved his breakfast of slop on the ground. After he quickly placed the stolen key on his tongue and swallowed.

 

The guard straightened up his uniform the best he could. But nothing could disguise the debauched appearance. One look and anyone would know what had been done to him. 

 

Javert pulled Valjean’s head up by the hair. “You will never speak of this,” his voice was raw. “This never happened.” He pushed the prisoner down in the vomit. “A night on the rack should help you forget.”

 

Valjean kept his head bowed. 

 

______________

 

The prisoner looked in the dirty hand mirror he had ‘borrowed' along with the straight razor he had used to shave his long locks off. His hair had been his last remaining vanity from another life.

 

Jean Valjean was dead. There was only 24601.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Just a few notes -
> 
> Valjean calls Javert "young" more than a few times but they're only about 5 years apart.
> 
> It might not be apparent (we only see Valjean's pov) but Javert knew (and wanted) exactly what he was agreeing to. If it helps any - Javert was not crying after the "rape" but that's what Valjean assumes in his guilty state.
> 
> My original idea for this fic was a sort of reversal of power but it kinda got away from me I think.... 
> 
> I may write in this verse again (or not). But every fic I write may not be from this verse. If I do though I will tag them as "Dark Valvert".
> 
> Can I come back out now???


End file.
